Colorblinded
by muldahhh
Summary: Post Red Wedding, in not dead place. Just broken.


**Disclaimer:** I do not own anything or anyone in this fanfiction.

**Spoilers**: A Strom of Swords. RW.

**Rating**: T, in case.

**A/N: **I just wanted to write some of Robb and Ned (after all, it's more like Robb + Robb and Ned). I always had that sort of thing on my mind, post-RW in not dead place. (Forever crying tears of blood because the most painful thing to be ever written.)

Don't read if you haven't read A Storm of Swords!

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**COLORBLINDED**

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**I.** Everything around him is blurred – blurred with blue, and later with pink, and then with red.

After all, everything becomes grey, even Robb himself.

**II.** Green grass on a hill reminds him the middle of summer. That one time when Sansa managed to fool Arya, and his younger sister was all covered with mud and dirt. But she was laughing really honestly, while lying on the ground, and even Sansa – first angry, later kind of ashamed for what she has done – started to smile hard. She was, until Bran and Rickon didn't push her into a small river with cold water. Things ended up with him and Jon running away before siblings' revenge.

He doesn't mind being here again, with warmth of the sun on his face, but then world twists around him, and drowns in black.

**III.** He is in Winterfell now. Castle walls are like he remembered them – black, hard, cold… but homely. Everything is untouched. Winterfell hasn't been taken over and burned down, destroyed till its foundations – here he sees it, beautiful and proud, as it is. (It was.) Heart of the North.

_I am the King Who Lost the North._

First of all, comes to him smell – smell of Maester Luwin's old books, sword's steel, pine wood, even candles in the main hall. He wants to be leaded by them, to some place, because as much as Winterfell seems the same, it's empty. That piece of ground where he, Jon and Theon used to practice sword fighting with ser Rodrik is clear. Robb remembers all these times when he painfully fell on the ground. Usually, the most painful was harmed pride of a teenage boy.

_I am no longer a boy, mother. I'm a king, and I can protect myself._

He walks into the castle and that's it, small but still – a change. Silence. There was never really silent here, when Bran, Rickon and Arya started to run all over the place, playing and tricking themselves, or when Sansa and her friend Jeyne were talking about their future lords husbands. Now it's all so quiet, so still. So cold.

And then, there's a flash of grey fur, and forefeet knocks his chest.

"Grey Wind!"

His direwolf brings a special smell, smell of forest, air just after the rain… and something like blood. But Robb is just really glad he sees him again, feels the warmth of fur, greeting the wolf like old friend. Yellow eyes of his direwolf meet his gaze, and for a second, he can say they are full of reproof, and that he hears voice lost long time ago.

_Why you did you go where I couldn't follow?_

Before Robb can be even surprised, Grey Wind barks at him and starts to run over the corridor, with his tail waging, like he says: _Come with me_. So he does, walking over his empty house, winter walls that couldn't be destroyed even by the iron. (They were?)

And suddenly, the direwolf stops, and they are outside again. Robb has to close his eyes, blinded by shining sun, and very blue sky. Just after a while, he realizes they are not alone anymore.

"Father…?"

Lord Eddard seems much younger, full of strength and… well, life. His hair is longer and kind of brown-red; his face is free of concerns. But at the same time, they're in his eyes, mixed up with joy, pain, bringing all the bittersweet feelings.

"Robb. Son." He sighs, and this one gesture is full of grief. He opens up the arms and Robb finds himself drawn to him. His father smells like usual, of cold ice and uncalled duty, and it makes him feel like a little boy, not a king. Like son.

_A son for a son_.

And there they are, glimpses and flashes in his head. Frey's sigil, blue towers. _Rains of Castomere_. Loud sound of drums. Three arrows. His mother holding the knife. Pink coat of a man he trusted. _Jaime Lannister sends his regards._

The truth hits him _– I'm dead_. He isn't very shocked, because deep down, he was aware of this. He knew it.

"I let you down, father", he whispered, trying to control himself, but then, there were tears, holding back for months. He closes his eyes, thinking about this moment when everybody screamed: _King in the North!,_ about his wedding with Jeyne, a broken promise ended in blood. "Your values. Everything you taught me. I'm so sorry…"

"You were so brave. You had not let me down, son." Lord Stark tenderly touches his head. "You grew up on someone who I can be proud of."

"A man can only be brave when he is afraid", Robb said, and he felt like some weight was taken off his head. Just now, he realized – a weight of crown.

"Yes. Come on, son. Let's look for Lady." His father takes a deep breath, giving him a broken smile of sad relief. "I think this place won't be empty for too long."

The sun sets down, when a man, a boy and a wolf disappear in dark corridors of their broken home. (Not dead, just broken.)


End file.
